


My Son

by Rulerofyouall



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Wayne is Batman, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Canonical Character Death, Catatonic Jason Todd, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Gen, Good Grandparent Alfred Pennyworth, Jason Todd Deserves Better, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd-centric, Jason-centric, Lazarus Pit (DCU), Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Protective Bruce Wayne, Protective Dick Grayson, Temporary Character Death, Tim Drake is Robin, best fucking fic ever that Laura has been waiting for, medical stuff done by an idiot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29142600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rulerofyouall/pseuds/Rulerofyouall
Summary: Bruce Wayne visits his son's grave one night, the same night Jason Todd breaks free from his coffin.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd, Barbara Gordon & Jason Todd, Batfamily Members & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 36
Kudos: 324





	1. Free from the Earth

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing!

Bruce Wayne was not someone who could be described as emotional. Sure, he felt things, but his feelings were always buried deep inside of him. He wore a persona out in public, one he called "Brucie" Wayne. That was mostly to keep his identity as Batman even more of a secret though. Batman was different from Bruce Wayne as well. He was gruff and often lost control of his anger these days, and Bruce was nothing like that, was he? No, Bruce was different from the different facades he took up. He felt things more than Batman but not as much as Brucie. He felt loss and pain and that goddamn hole in his heart that refused to close no matter how much he tried.

He didn't think anything would be able to fill the hole in his heart left by the death of Jason Todd. Sure, Batman got a new Robin, but that was not his decision. Timothy had practically forced his hand to give him the role. And while he got a new son out of it, he would never replace Jason nor fill the spot he used to have. No, Tim had his own spot as did Jason and Dick. Sometimes, he just wanted to scream, to let his emotions out. It wasn't _fair_ that one of his own got taken from him so quickly. Jason had been a good kid. He had made some bad decisions throughout his life, but that didn't make _him_ a bad person. His heart had always been in the right place. 

It was that night that found him in the cemetery, not the Wayne cemetery but the one his son's mother was buried in. It was dark, and rain relentlessly pelted the ground. He tugged his jacket closer to him, the bitter cold of the Gotham night sinking into his bones. The rain made the ground muddy, the type of mud that splashed up onto his boots and pants. Alfred would be annoyed with him, but he knew that the butler would understand. It was on days as dark as this that his heart reached out to his lost son.

He hadn't expected to see anyone else that day, but he could have sworn that he saw something move in the dark in front of him. Unfortunately, it was impossible to see anything clearly from a distance of more than a few feet. Bruce sighed, continuing to plow through the mud as he got closer and closer to the final resting place of his young son. His eyes continued to see movement, enough that it would normally put him on edge, but he couldn't find it in him to care. He was going to go be with his son again, his baby boy (Jason would have killed him if he heard him say that), even if it was just for a short time.

Sometimes, he would see his son again as though he had never died or as though he was dreaming. Not major things, just tiny glimpses of the young teenager out of the corner of his eye. He never spoke when he could see him. He just stared at him, or one time, Bruce saw him reading a book in the library. He thought it would hurt less if Jason spoke to him, if he blamed Bruce for not coming to save him, but no, his hallucinated version of his son would always remain so, so quiet. He also never tried to touch his son, fearing that his hand would go right through him. Bruce wanted so much for him to be _real_ that he didn't want his delusion to shatter like that into millions of broken pieces.

There was a boy by his son's grave, very thin and very short. Through the rain and the dark, he could barely pick out his features. He was sitting on the ground, probably absolutely caked in mud by this point, but he didn't seem too bothered by it at all. No, he didn't seem to care about anything, just existing in that point in time.

"Hello?" Bruce called out to him, taking a few more steps further, but the boy did not seem to hear him at all.

He frowned. What was up with this kid? The older man took a more cautious approach, slowly moving towards the child as to not frighten him off. The boy did not move or even seem to notice him.

"Kid?"

Finally, he got close enough to the kid to see some more defining features, but the child's head was buried in his knees. As he expected, the boy was soaking, both from the rain and from the mud that was on the ground. The small kid was rocking back and forth on his heels, but he still didn't acknowledge Bruce's presence. The older man frowned. The boy couldn't be scared of him, could he? If he was, he would've run from him by now.

He touched the boy's shoulder, ignoring how similar he was to his lost son. Jason had been the exactly same height and weight as the boy in front of him. He even had the same hair color although he was quite a bit paler than his son had been.

"Can you hear me?" Bruce asked one more time.

Now, a normal person probably would have called the police at this time, but Bruce was no normal bastard. He carefully pried the child's knees from his head, trying to get a better look at him. As Batman, he had encountered a lot of children down on their luck, so maybe he would recognize him. The boy almost seemed to go limp in his arms, so he maneuvered the now dead weight until he was leaning against his son's headstone. Jason wouldn't mind.

As he was doing so, the ground seemed to give way underneath his foot, and he fell down to his knee before he caught himself. What the actual fuck? Had his son's coffin collapsed already? Impossible, Bruce had made sure to get only the best for his dearly departed son. The small boy moved for the first time Bruce had seen, turning to look at the hole. He shivered against the cold. Bruce felt his heart tighten. He had the same eyes as _his_ son, but this boy couldn't possibly be Jason.

Unless the hole he had fallen into had already existed? He probably would have sunk deeper had he not caught himself. Bruce moved to touch the child again, wiping some of the dirt out of his face, and lo and behold, he had the exact same face shape as his son had. There was a deep red scar across his face though, but Bruce knew that that was one of the places that the Joker had hit him with the damned crowbar. Was it possible that this was his son? He looked around at the child, desperate to find any other sign that this kid belonged to _him._ He was wearing nice clothes, nicer than any of the poorer children of Gotham could afford. The kid wore a very tiny suit, almost like one they would have dressed someone in for a funeral. Bruce took both of the boys hands in his and took a deep breath. Could this kid be his? Could he be Jason?

He looked at the boy's fingernails, finding his fingers absolutely caked in blood as though he had managed to crawl out of a coffin. Several of the nails were in fact missing, having been ripped off. Bruce felt like crying in joy. This had to be his kid, right? He just had to be. Regardless, he would be taking him back to the Batcave. Jason or not, he was injured and unresponsive, but Bruce couldn't let go of the hope searing through his chest.

"Bruce?" He heard the boy whisper to him, faintly enough that he almost didn't hear it at all.

He wanted to bring the boy into the biggest hug he could manage, but he didn't. He didn't know how this kid, hopefully Jason, would react. "Yes, yes, that's me. What is your name?" He wanted it so much to be Jason, but he knew in his heart that his son was dead. He had had an autopsy and everything, and there was no coming back from that. Besides, Bruce was known well enough that this kid could have simply recognized him as Bruce Wayne, not as his father.

It hurt his heart to think about, but at least he knew it wasn't one of those delusions. His hallucinations never spoke.

The boy didn't respond to him, just continued to stare at him some more. "Bruce."

"Yes, that's me." He put his hands under the boy's armpits and lifted him into his arms. This child would not be spending the night out in the frigid air. "I'm taking you back to my place now, okay? We're going to get you cleaned up."

Supporting the child with one hand, he picked up his phone, dialing the manor. Luckily, Dick had already come over to spend time with Tim (not Bruce, never Bruce), so he wouldn't have to call him. He knew Dick would be furious if he neglected to tell him of this.

_"Master Bruce?"_

"Alfred," he exhaled loudly, having not realized he was holding his breath. "Get Dr. Thompkins to the medbay, and prepare some blood tests, okay? I found a child in the cemetery, Alfred. He looks...he looks exactly like Jason."

There was a sigh from over the phone. _"Very well, Master Bruce, but I must remind you that Jason has passed."_

"I know! But Alfred, the ground by his headstone is unstable as if someone had dug themselves out of it. And the child....he's wearing the same clothes Jason had on for his funeral, Alfred. And his fingers! They're all torn up." Bruce explained quickly, desperate to get his butler to believe him, to be on his side in this case.

_"I see. I shall summon Masters Richard and Timothy for this as well."_

They got back to the Batcave in record time, but the kid, _Jason,_ had not spoken since. He hardly moved either, seemingly content to just stare off into space. Bruce wasn't too concerned by this at the moment. Jason must be in shock; anyone would be after finding themselves buried alive and digging themselves out. And he had his son back! He didn't care how wounded he was. He didn't care if he never spoke again; just knowing that he was _alive_ was enough for him.

...he was getting ahead of himself. He hadn't run the blood test yet, so there was still a chance that this wasn't his son, just a different kid who needed help. Bruce would help him anyway.

Dr. Thompkins hadn't arrived by the time Bruce parked his car, but he had expected that. On the way to the Batcave, he had probably violated every single law he could have, but he didn't care. He picked up the boy again, and again, he didn't react at all.

"You can't seriously think that he is Jason, can you?" Dick demanded, his hand on his youngest sibling's shoulder. Tim, to his credit, didn't look nearly as tired as everyone else in the room. In fact, he looked excited, almost vibrating with curiosity (although that might have something to do with the huge cup of coffee in his hands).

"It has to be, Dick."

His oldest son frowned, his face slowly growing angrier and angrier. "Jason is DEAD, Bruce!"

"His grave was empty. I almost fell into it, and this child here was sitting right next to it." Bruce turning him, so the others could see him. "He's wearing the same clothes Jason was wearing for the funeral. Look, Dick, look at his hands. Those sort of wounds can only mean one thing."

He knew his son agreed as soon as he saw the flash of recognition. "People just don't come back from the dead. With the amount of time he has been buried, he'd have suffocated a thousand times over."

"There must be a reason. One that we haven't found yet, yes, but there must be one." He said slowly and calmly. "We'll figure it out."

Alfred spoke up next. "Master Bruce, if Dr. Thompkins is to draw blood from him, he must be cleaner."

Bruce nodded. "You're right, Alfred. I'll see to that now."

The showers had a bright light in them, one that made both Bruce and the boy squint. The older man looked down to the child. "Can you wash yourself?"

The boy did not speak or even look at him, so Bruce set to work on removing his clothing. With every piece that came off, he got more and more hope. He recognized this boy. This boy was Jason Todd. His body was streaked with angry red scars working his way across his body in the exact locations the crowbar had hit. Bruce had made sure to memorize every single wound's location, and he would never forget them. The worst part was his torso. The child had a long, deep scar, almost like a surgical incision, in the shape of a Y, and of course, Bruce knew what that meant.

"You need help?" He heard his eldest call out behind him.

"If you would like to offer it."

Dick stepped closer, freezing in place when he saw the scars. There was only one place that Y scar could have come from. "Okay, I might be going crazy, but I think I'm starting to believe you."

It took a long time to get Jason clean. He didn't move much nor speak at all, and the water that ran down his body turning into a dark brown, the same color of the cemetery's mud. Bruce took extra care around his fingers, careful to clean out all the cuts to avoid infection. Dick moved slower, seemingly in shock. Bruce wasn't sure when he started referring to him as "Jason" and not "the child," but he couldn't care to figure it out.

"Why isn't he speaking?"

Bruce's eyes flicked up to Dick's. "He hasn't said much."

"But why?"

"I don't know, Dick. Shock?"

Dick sat next to the kid, ignoring how his clothes were getting wet. "Hey, kid. Is it really you?"

"Is it really you?" He mumbled under his breath, not answering Dick's question.

Frowning, Dick looked up to Bruce. He shrugged; honestly, he had no clue what was going on.

"Yeah, buddy, it's me." Dick ran his hand through the kid's hair again, getting rid of another layer of mud.

Dr. Thompkins couldn't arrive soon enough. After being cleaned, Bruce moved the small kid back to the medbay, watching as both Alfred and Tim tensed in shock. Without all the dirt covering him, the kid looked even more recognizable as Jason Todd. The only difference was that Jason's skin had more color to it, but what else could be expected after being in a coffin for six months?

"Master Bruce," Alfred sat down next to the man. "I'm afraid you must understand that this child may not be Jason, no matter how many similarities they may have. I do not want you getting your hopes up only for them to be destroyed once more."

Bruce turned from where he had been staring at Jason, who was now sitting deathly still on one of the medical beds. The young boy was still rocking back in forth on his heels with no purpose. "This just _has_ to be him, Alfred. There's no other explanation!"

"This child could be many other people." He stated gently. "As much as I wish him to be Master Jason, the dead do not simply come back to life."

"If anyone could do it, it would be Jason." He looked over to the child again. Tim had wandered over to him and was trying to get him to drink some water, but he was anything but helpful in that venture.

When she arrived, Leslie too stopped and stared at the boy for a few moments as though she had just seen a ghost. "Is he responsive?" She shook herself out of it immediately, becoming more professional and taking out her stethoscope to put against his chest.

"He said my name twice while we were still at the cemetery and repeated a question Dick asked him once, but no, there has been nothing else." Bruce informed her, rushing by her side and looking over her shoulder.

Dick's face seemed to mimic that of a fish. "You didn't say that he said your _name_ , B, come on."

"Sorry," he grunted, knowing his oldest would appreciate it.

She quickly pulled out a needle and sterilized an area on Jason's arm. "I will also check his electrolytes with this." She commented, almost to herself. Electrolyte imbalances could after all cause changes in mental function.

"How long will it take for us to know the results?" Bruce demanded.

"It would go quicker if someone could run this." Dr. Thompkins handed the vial off to Dick, who had done blood tests before on the vigilante job. (Normally, for things like fear toxin, but hey, he had some experience at least.)

The older man blinked for a few seconds. "And now?"

"I'm going to be doing as complete of a physical as I can whilst he is unresponsive like this." She frowned, checking the clipboard she had taken out of her bag. "I would also appreciate your help in completing a BFCRS. I know you just found him, but you have been around him more than me."

Tim furrowed his brow from where he had been observing. "What's that?"

Leslie looked up in surprise, having forgotten he was there. "It is the Bush Francis Catatonia Rating Scale."

"You think he might be catatonic? I thought he was in shock." Bruce frowned.

"He looks to me like he's dissociating or in a stupor right now." She flicked her eyes open to the Bats. "Actually, can you start completing this form right now? To the best of your ability, of course. If you are not sure, please just say 'Absent.'"

He nodded eagerly, all but snatching the clipboard from her in his haste to see what was going on.

_1\. Immobility/stupor: Extreme hypoactivity, immobile, minimally responsive to stimuli.  
0 - Absent.  
1 - Sits abnormally still, may interact briefly.  
2 - Virtually no interaction with external world.  
3 - Stuporous, non-reactive to painful stimuli._

....Fuck. He hadn't been around his son long enough for him to know the correct answer. What sort of pain stimuli was there to go off of? Bruce stared blankly at the sheet for a few moments. Jason didn't seem to react much or at all to the cuts on his fingers or the ripped out nails. Would that count? At the same time, he hadn't been around when he had received those cuts and gashes, so he might not have the full story. He sighed. Fuck it; Dr. Thompkins said to complete this to the best of _his_ ability. There was no reason to overthink this. Sighing, he marked off number three.

_2\. Mutism: Verbally unresponsive or minimally responsive._  
_0 = Absent._  
_1 = Verbally unresponsive to majority of questions; incomprehensible whisper._  
_2 = Speaks less than 20 words/5mins._  
_3 = No speech._

This question was much easier. It definitely was not three since Jason did speak, but he had not spoken more than twice. He marked off number two easily.

_3\. Staring: Fixed gaze, little or no visual scanning of environment, decreased blinking._  
_0 = Absent._  
_1 = Poor eye contact, repeatedly gazes less than 20 s between shifting of attention; decreased_  
_blinking._  
_2 = Gaze held longer than 20 s, occasionally shifts attention._  
_3 = Fixed gaze, non-reactive._

Bruce wouldn't say that Jason was entirely non-reactive. When he had taken him to the showers, he had squinted in an attempt to save his eyes from the light, and he had shifted his attention a few times since they had returned to the Batcave. He rated him another two.

_4\. Posturing/catalepsy: Spontaneous maintenance of posture (s), including mundane (e.g. sitting or  
standing for long periods without reacting).  
0 = Absent.  
1 = Less than I min.  
2 = Greater than one minute, less than 15 min.  
3 = Bizarre posture, or mundane maintained more than 15 min._

Bruce eyed his son, who was still sitting on the bed where he had been placed what seemed like hours ago. He knew it hadn't been that long really, but time seemed to move so slowly. Jason had been in a similar position at the cemetery too. In fact, he only seemed to move when Bruce picked him up, and then, he had acted sort of like a limp noodle. Sighing, he rated his son a three once more.

_5\. Grimacing: Maintenance of odd facial expressions.  
0 = Absent.  
1 = Less than l0 seconds.  
2 = Less than 1 min.  
3 = Bizarre expression(s) or maintained more than 1 min._

He wouldn't say that Jason had been grimacing a lot, but he had noticed it maybe once or twice, never for a long period of time. Mostly, he just seemed to stare of into space, and his face remained blank and emotionless. He gave him a one.

_6\. Echopraxia/echolalia: Mimicking of examiner's movements (echopraxia) or speech (echolalia).  
0 = Absent  
1 = Occasional.  
2 = Frequent.  
3 = Constant_

Now, Bruce hadn't noticed him copying anyone's movements, but he had copied a question Dick had asked in the shower. He gave him a one again.

_7\. Stereotypy: Repetitive, non-goal-directed motor activity (e.g. finger-play, repeatedly touching,_  
_patting or rubbing self); abnormality not inherent in act but in its frequency._  
_0 - Absent_  
_1 - Occasional._  
_2 - Frequent._  
_3 - Constant._

Bruce side-eyed the bed where he sat once more. He hadn't stopped rocking yet, so he gave him a three. Damn, it seemed like Jason was scoring high on a lot of these. Why couldn't Jason have come back healthy? Not to say that he wasn't glad he was here under these circumstances, but he wished things had gone easier for his son.

_8\. Mannerisms: Odd, purposeful movements (hopping or walking tiptoe, saluting passers-by or_  
_exaggerated caricatures of mundane movements); abnormality inherent in act itself._  
_0 - Absent_  
_1 - Occasional._  
_2 - Frequent._  
_3 - Constant._

He hadn't seen Jason do anything odd like that yet, but at the same time, he had only been observing him since he found him in the cemetery. It hadn't even been a whole day yet, so he wasn't sure if Jason would exhibit this symptom. Following Dr. Thompkins's advice, he put zero for Absent.

_9\. Stereotyped & meaningless repetition of words & phrases (verbigeration): Repetition of_  
_phrases or sentences (like a scratched records)._  
_0 - Absent._  
_1 - Occasional._  
_2 - Frequent, difficult to interrupt._  
_3 - Constant._

He gave Jason a two for this one. While he hadn't spoken much, it was frequent enough for the duration that they had had him, and twice, it was a meaningless repetition of Bruce's own name.

_10\. Rigidity: Maintenance of a rigid position despite efforts to be moved (exclude if cog-wheeling  
or tremor present)  
0 = Absent.  
1 = Mild resistance.  
2 = Moderate.  
3 = Severe, cannot be repostured._

Zero again. Jason hadn't been too difficult to move back to the Batcave. There had been some resistance at first, but he had fallen limp after Bruce had picked him up.

_11\. Negativism: Apparently motiveless resistance to instructions or attempts to move/examine  
patients. Contrary behavior, does exact opposite of instruction.  
0 - Absent  
1 - Mild resistance and/or occasionally contrary.  
2 - Moderate resistance and/or frequently contrary.  
3 - Severe resistance and/or continually contrary. _

He looked up to Dr. Thompkins and Jason again. During the physical, he had been exhibiting a lot of contrary behavior. When she asked him to stand up, he instead leaned back in his bed, and when she asked up to press up against her arm with his hand, he moved it down. Bruce gave him a two.

_12\. Waxy flexibility: During repositioning of patient, patient offers initial resistance before  
allowing him/herself to be repositioned, similar to that of a bending candle. (also defined as slow  
resistance to movement as the patient allows the examiner to place his/her extremities in unusual  
positions. The limb may remain in the position in which they are placed or not)  
0 - Absent  
3 - Present._

Oh. So that's what it was called. Bruce had just thought that his son was acting like a limp noodle, which, to be fair, had been the case several times before his death. He gave him a three since it was present.

_13\. Withdrawal: Refusal to eat, drink and/or make eye contact.  
0 = Absent.  
1 = Minimal oral intake/interaction for less than 1 day.  
2 = Minimal oral intake/interaction for more than 1 day.  
3 = No oral intake/interaction for 1 day or more._

Well, they hadn't had him for a whole day yet, so one was the worst he could get. Tim had tried to give him water or food or something earlier, but he had resisted. He hadn't eaten anything that Bruce had seen, and since he had found him right outside his grave, he doubted he had had anything for the last six months...since he had died. He gave a one.

_14\. Excitement: Extreme hyperactivity, constant motor unrest which is apparently non-purposeful.  
Not to be attributed to akathisia or goal-directed agitation.  
1 - Excessive motion, intermittent.  
2 - Constant motion, hyperkinetic wit_ _hout rest periods.  
3 - Full-blown catatonic excitement, endless frenzied motor activity._

Bruce didn't even need to look up to give him a zero. Jason hadn't been hyperactive at _all,_ more like the opposite really.

_15\. Impulsivity: Patient suddenly engages in inappropriate behavior (e.g. runs down hallway, starts  
screaming or takes off clothes) without provocation. Afterwards can give no, or only a facile  
explanation.  
0 - Absent.  
1 - Occasional.  
2 - Frequent.  
3 - Constant or not redirectable. _

...another zero for now, but Bruce would keep an eye on him to see if any of this started to happen.

_16\. Automatic obedience: Exaggerated cooperation with examiner's request or spontaneous  
continuation of movement requested.  
0 = Absent.  
1 = Occasional  
2 = Frequent  
3 = Constant._

He gave Jason a one on this question. While he seemed to be doing the exact opposite of what Leslie was trying to get him to do, he hadn't been exactly forthcoming with Bruce earlier. When he had asked him a question, he hadn't gotten the response he was looking for, and when he tried to get Jason to go to his car with him, he also refused to do that (until Bruce manhandled him).

_17\. Passive Obedience (mitgehen): Patient raises arm in response to light pressure of finger,_  
_despite instructions to the contrary._  
_0 = Absent._  
_3 = Present._

He frowned, looking up. "Dr. Thompkins? Can you test him for passive obedience?"

Luckily, that woman knew many things and didn't even need to check what he was asking for, simply moving a figure to Jason's arm. "Don't raise you arm now, okay?" She pushed up a little.

Jason's arm swung up immediately.

God damn it, Bruce gave him the three.

_18\. Muscle Resistance (gegenhalten): Involuntary resistance to passive movement of a limb to a  
new position. Resistance increases with the speed of the movement.  
0 - Absent  
3 - Present._

Dr. Thompkins already knew what was next and had started testing before Bruce even finished the question. "Present." The resistance was short-lived, but it was there. After a few seconds, Jason seemed to melt back into the 'bending candle' or as Bruce called it 'limp noodle' effect.

_19\. Motorically Stuck (ambitendency): Patient appears stuck in indecisive, hesitant motor  
movements.  
0 - Absent.  
3 = Present._

"I need to observe him for longer to answer this one correctly." Leslie frowned. "He's rocking back and force, but there is not much other motor movement right now. Absent for now."

He wrote down the zero.

_20\. Grasp reflex: Striking the patient’s open palm with two extended fingers of the examiner’s  
hand results in automatic closure of patients hand.  
0 = Absent  
3 = Present_

"Present," the doctor had called out to him before he could even look up.

Very well then. He'd just move on.

_21\. Perseveration: Repeatedly returns to same topic or persists with the same movements.  
0 = Absent.  
3 = Present._

"He's been doing the rocking for a long time." Bruce mentioned. "Since the cemetery."

She nodded her head in understanding. "Present, then."

_22\. Combativeness: Belligerence or aggression, Usually in an undirected manner, without  
explanation.  
0 = Absent  
1 = Occasionally strikes out, low potential for injury.  
2 = Frequently strikes out, moderate potential for injury.  
3 = Serious danger to others. _

Well, Jason hadn't done this so far, but Bruce would keep an eye out for it. Due to his training, he could become a serious danger if he wanted to, but he had not seen anything yet. Absent.

_23\. Autonomic abnormality: Abnormality of body temperature (fever), blood pressure, pulse,  
respiratory rate, inappropriate sweating, flushing.  
0 = Absent  
1 = Abnormality of one parameter (exclude pre-existing hypertension).  
2 = Abnormality of two parameters.  
3 = Abnormality of three or more parameters._

"Did his physical turn up anything abnormal?" Bruce looked up from the clipboard again.

"He has a high blood pressure right now." She frowned. "I also noticed an increased pulse, and he's breathing fast too, nearly hyperventilating."

All right then. That's three parameters that she noted. There wasn't much else to do, so he set to work tallying the score. Forty. That wasn't as bad as it could have been, he supposed. It definitely wasn't great, but they would be able to work on that, right? He handed the clipboard back to Dr. Thompkins, watching as she read through the results quickly.

"I would definitely say he has a catatonic disorder." The doctor pursed her lips. "Now, this sort of thing can take a long time to heal."

Bruce straightened. "What? Weeks? I've been out for longer. It'll be fine, right?" 

_Please tell me it will be fine._

"Some catatonic patients have come out of it within that time, yes, but I'm sorry. This could take years."

Years? Jason would miss even more time in his life. God damn it, this was the age he was supposed to be having fun and getting ready for his high school classes and beyond. Before the...incident, he had been fanatically looking at all the different universities around that he knew Bruce would be able to afford and had been really excited about it too. He had wanted to be a literature major, and then...everything went wrong.

But that didn't mean that it couldn't go right again, did it?

He felt even more hope in his heart when his oldest son rushed back into the room, out of breath, saying, "It's him, Bruce. It's Jason."


	2. Jason Todd, Take Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason's back, bitch

"Please drink this. Please, please, please." Dick held a bottle of Gatorade, light green flavor (only cops didn't call them by their colors...don't tell his boss), to Jason's mouth, but the kid didn't react at all. Dr. Thompkins had suggested the drink due to its electrolyte content as Jason had been low on pretty much everything after coming back from the dea--from Narnia or something. (Not the dead, definitely not the dead.)

Naturally, he had been over the moon with joy when the blood test confirmed Bruce's theory, that this was in fact Jason Todd. He had his little wing back! Now, Dick had been far from a good brother in the past, but he swore he would make up for it. He was going to be the bestestestest big brother in the whole goddamn world, nay, the universe. Dick wanted to be near Jason now, all the time, even if it meant having to move back to Gotham and quit his job in Bludhaven. He wanted to take both of his baby brothers to the park, take them shopping, buy them ice cream....you know, like cool big brothers do.

But first he had to get his brother to drink the goddamn Gatorade.

"Please drink this...I promised Bruce I would get you to drink this..."

"Bruce?" Jason mumbled under his breath.

Dick sighed, shaking his head. "No, I'm Dick, remember? D-I-C-K. I'm way better than Bruce."

Inwardly, he knew Jason probably remembered him. He had to, right? Dick was his big brother! This had to just be the catatonia talking...or at least, he hoped it was.

"...Bruce."

"Do you want me to go get him?"

His brother didn't respond, and his eyes went out of focus again. He returned to rocking back and forth. It seemed he wouldn't be stopping that anytime soon. It had been two days since Jason came back, since Dick managed to confirm that it really was his brother. Jason hadn't spoken much during that time. His echolalia persisted (and yes, Dick had had to look up the definition of that word, sue him). If he wasn't repeating someone else's words, however, he always said the same thing. _Bruce._ Dick tried not to be jealous. It was only right; Bruce had been around Jason a lot more than he had.

"Did he drink anything?" His youngest brother, Tim (another smol child), wandered his way into the room. He was carrying a stack of books with him, obviously having come straight from the large library the manor had.

Dick shook his head. "No. I've been trying for, like, thirty minutes at this point." He bit his lip, glaring at the bottle of Gatorade as if it was its fault.

"It's going to take time, Dick."

Damn it, why did Tim always seem more reasonable than him? Dick was _older;_ he was supposed to be the wiser one.

"I know." He paused. "I just wish I could do more."

His brother was silent for a moment before moving to the table next to Dick and Jason and dropping the stack of books on it with a loud _thunk._ They were all rather large books, nothing like anything Dick had seen Tim reading recently. Perhaps they were for school? Dick couldn't remember ever being asked to read so many books at once when he was Tim's age though. He leaned over, watching as his younger brother carefully sorted through the stack.

"Alfred gave me some of the books Jason used to read a lot." Tim mentioned when he saw his brother watching. "I thought maybe we could read to him."

 _Oh._ That made more sense.

"Sure! We could do that." Dick all but dove into the piles of books in search of one he knew his little wing would like.

How would Jason react to them? He barely interacted with Bruce, Dick, and Alfred, and he had known the three of them before the...incident. Perhaps hearing stories, ones he was already familiar with, would cause some sort of spark within Jason? Bring him back to how he was when he read those books for the very first time? Dick wasn't sure. Ultimately, the older brother came up with Jane Austen's _Pride and Prejudice_. 

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife..."

* * *

Did Dick ever mention how boring _Pride and Prejudice_ was? No? Well, he should've. It was by far the dullest book he had read in a long, long time, but Jason liked it. Jason had always liked being able to immerse himself in different realities and lose himself in stories written long ago. Dick always thought that he liked to forget about who he was and pretend to be someone else if only for a short while, but he couldn't see how anyone would want to live these characters lives. All they did was...go to each other's houses. That was about it.

He'd plow through it for Jason. Every now and then, he'd look up from the book to see his brothers. Tim had started doing homework although he was still listening, and Jason....

Well, Jason had looked up at him. Finally. He hadn't stopped the rocking, but that had been too much to ask for so soon. The point was, Jason's eyes were now focused. He wasn't just staring off into space anymore but staring _at_ something, and right now, that something was _Dick._ His eyes flashed down towards the novel yet again, scared that he would lose Jason's focus if he didn't continue reading.

How the hell could anyone get through sixty-one chapters of this? Perhaps Dick just didn't understand how society worked in those times. He'd probably be more invested if he had. Oh, well, Dick would suffer through his boredom if it meant that Jason was happy. He hoped Jason was. It wasn't really clear at this moment, and throughout the last few days, all Dick had seen on him was an expressionless face and maybe the occasional grimace.

He flipped the page over, noting how his younger brother absentmindedly mimicked his movements. Fortunately, Jason seemed content for now, and the fact that Jason finally looked at him was improvement, right? Dick just hoped Jason would be able to heal under Dr. Thompkins's care alone. Bruce had been hesitant to reveal to the public that Jason Todd was in fact alive, especially due to his catatonic state. There would be far too many people who would try to abduct and ransom him due to his vulnerability.

Maybe it would help if someone with telepathy, like Martian Manhunter or something, went into Jason's mind and tried to sort it out themselves. He wasn't sure how effective that would be; surely, it would be best if they try to help him heal the normal way first? _But this way could be so much faster._ He shook his head, ignoring his other thoughts; he had no idea how it would affect Jason at all.

 _People who can heal the normal way haven't come back from literal_ ** _death_**.

Shut up. Dick shook his head, clearing his wandering thoughts. They had to at least try to allow Jason to recover before finding new and experimental methods of getting him back. There had never been a recorded instance of a human coming back from catatonia due to extraterrestrial interference, and Dick wasn't about to unnecessarily risk his brother by rushing things.

Eventually, he closed the book, sticking a little piece of paper inside to mark their place. Dick stared at his younger brother for a little bit, and Jason stared back. He wished he knew what was going on in his head right now. He could barely tell what he was feeling, let alone thinking. Clearly, he had experienced a great bit of trauma, and that always left scars, both visible and not. Would he one day accidentally find one of those mental scars and...hurt him? He didn't want to be the reason his brother was in pain. Logically, he knew that it would probably happen one day. They didn't know where all his boundaries were or what triggered him badly, so they had no idea what to avoid around him. They knew that some things would be more likely to affect him, like clowns and enclosed spaces, but there must be so much more that they had no clue about. Dick was just scared of being the one to find them.

"How's he been?" A new voice came from behind him, one that belonged to Bruce.

Dick jumped and twisted around in his seat. He hadn't realized that the older man had entered the room. How long had he been standing there?

He turned back to his brothers and sighed. "He hasn't drunk anything." His arm subconsciously flicked over to the side to gesture to the still full bottle of Gatorade. "Even if we get him to drink some, it isn't going to be enough to sustain him."

Bruce agreed grimly. "Yes, Dr. Thompkins mentioned that we might have to give him some nutrients intravenously if he refuses food and drink."

"What if he, you know, rips it out or something?" Dick frowned.

Jason had never liked having anything sticking into his veins in the past when he was still alive. He said once that it reminded him too much of his mother and how she died of a drug overdose in the bathroom of their apartment, and Dick had never judged him for that fear.

"We'll work something out." Bruce promised.

The lack of answers frustrated Dick. Dr. Thompkins had provided them with as much as they could, diagnosing him with catatonia, specifically Kahlbaum Syndrome (the most common type of catatonia), and everything, but there were so many questions that they all still had. What had caused Jason to suddenly wake up in his grave after being dead for six whole months? Had it all been orchestrated by someone who perhaps had ulterior motives against the Waynes? Or were they trying to use Jason for something? Would Jason ever return to a non-catatonic state? How long would it take?

Naturally, he had done as much research as he could in the short amount of time that they had had so far, but it wasn't enough. He knew that catatonia was often linked to other mental disorders such as schizophrenia or depression, and it could also be caused by an imbalance in dopamine, GABA, and glutamate, all important neurotransmitters in brain function. Perhaps those neurotransmitters went out of wack while Jason was...gone? 

He didn't like not knowing what was going on. Absentmindedly, he cracked open the Gatorade yet again, hoping that maybe now that Jason had had eye contact with him he would drink something. Realistically, he knew that the two symptoms wouldn't exactly disappear at the same time, but a man was allowed to dream, right?

"Do you want a drink?" He held up the bottle again.

"Do you want?"

Internally, Dick sighed. Was that really what Jason was trying to say, or was his brain replacing the words he was trying to get out? He could imagine that the latter would be incredibly frustrating, just trying to say something and not being able to do it at all. Or maybe he was getting it wrong. Maybe that was all Jason could get out at the moment. Regardless, there was more going on in his little brother's brain than he was getting out of his mouth.

Would Jason mimic him if he drank something? He had been turning seemingly invisible pages while Dick was reading _Pride and Prejudice_ to him. Eagerly, he carefully wrenched his brother's hand open and put the open bottle of Gatorade in it before getting another bottle for himself. 

_Aw, yeah, this is big brain mode._

Making sure he was in Jason's line of sight, he took a long drink out of his Gatorade (the same light green color to keep the variable to a minimum) and nearly collapsed with relief when Jason did the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and suggestions are welcome and appreciated!


End file.
